


step up

by ninetwothrees



Series: lessons in motion [2]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Awkward Romance, Blow Jobs, Canon Universe, Developing Relationship, Feelings, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-28 19:46:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11424906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninetwothrees/pseuds/ninetwothrees
Summary: Mark and Bambam have known each other for over seven years but they have yet to figure out how their newfound feelings fit into their familiarity.





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**Author's Note:**

> who needs a sequel to a pwp... me, apparently! (but it can be read as a standalone. ^^)

I.

  


Mark is a straightforward person, but Bambam comes to realize that dating him is anything but. If that’s what they’re doing, dating. They haven’t had any discussion on the technicalities of the _thing_ between them, much to Yugyeom’s concern, because Yugyeom is still the person Bambam tells everything, and Bambam likes that he can count on Yugyeom to take his side, as best friends do, and to sympathize with his vents that have build up throughout the early stages of Bambam and Mark’s unclear relationship status.

It’s not exactly surprising. He has a _thing_ with Mark Tuan of all people. Of course Mark isn’t a very verbal person, and Bambam knows it would be unfair to expect him to change overnight, but he _was_ expecting somewhat smoother communication, especially since it was Mark who took the step to change the playing field by revealing his feeling for Bambam that night.

This part, at least, they covered. “So you... like me?” Bambam asked soon after the exchange of orgasms and the kisses that sold the deal inevitably clued him in.

“Yeah,” Mark said easily.

“Since when?” Bambam pushed. He had been curious, verging on obsessive, about how Mark had reached the crossroad where offering to jerk Bambam off felt like a risk worth taking.

“Dunno,” Mark said just as easily, except the result was nowhere near satisfactory like his confirmation was.

“Well, try to think?” Bambam’s frustration was pushing his limits to the point when he gets a little mean to Mark, and that always frustrates him further.

“Just… lately, I guess,” Mark said, and then, “are we done here?” And he left the room, like normal people _don’t_ , and left Bambam, annoyed, though now glad he got to be mean first.

Bambam stresses Mark’s quietness on broadcasts with increased enthusiasm, Mark likes to enthusiastically tell him to shut up, and it serves as functional symbiosis and as a cloud of normalcy over their deviation from it, which Bambam appreciates. All the same, with more vulnerable emotions at stake, he sometimes wishes it didn’t feel like Mark hates his guts half the time, and that he didn’t repay in the same manner.

But there are times when he’s certain it’s worth it, and relishes in that certainty; like when Mark cuddles up against his back when Bambam is lazing around in bed, wraps his arms around him and buries his face into his shoulders, and Bambam might not be completely used to this being the new normal yet, but after a moment of alarm gives himself into it, makes himself comfortable in Mark’s arms, and continues scrolling Instagram, hoping Mark can’t feel his fastened heartbeat.

Occasionally he alerts Mark to pictures he thinks he would find interesting and Mark asks him to message him the link, other times Mark peeks over his shoulder and prompts him to talk about the fashion post he’s lingering on or about how he plans to incorporate things from tutorials into his filmmaking, and Bambam tells him, sounding inane to his own ears, but he never doubts that Mark is as interested as he appears to be.

Sometimes when they’re guaranteed privacy, Mark gets bored (that’s Bambam’s theory anyway, though he does wonder, always anew, if maybe Mark is as desperate for him as he is for Mark), his hands, lax until then, start wandering, under Bambam’s shirt, over his pajama pants, working him over the fabric until he’s hard, and Bambam himself tries his best not to react, keeps liking Instagram posts, stifles any noises threatening to come out of him, for as long as he manages. It’s become a game neither of them explicitly defined, because they both know, Mark can feel every hitch in Bambam’s breath and every twitch of his body, but doesn’t call him out on it, and they keep it up till the last of Bambam’s resolve breaks, and he squirms and whimpers against Mark’s hold on him and comes into his pants he will later hurry to take into the washer.

He never kisses Mark more daringly than then, with just-dried cum and his dick still throbing from the high. He pins Mark to the bed, the only member he can, on good days, match in strength, but Mark makes no effort to escape the position anyway, receives Bambam’s hungry kisses until their lips are sore and shiny. After, Bambam gets Mark off, one hand on Mark’s cock, the other exploring every bit of skin he can reach, Mark’s arms, chest, sparse hair on his stomach, and Mark puts up no facade, his body responds without reserve, and Bambam doesn’t take his eyes off of him the whole time.

  


“I really fucking like him,” Bambam admits to Yugyeom one night after they’ve had a few beers, each in their respective bed, Bambam in one of his expensive boxers; he ran out of clean pants.

“ _I really fucking like you_ ,” he messages Mark on KakaoTalk once Yugyeom passes out. He feels intoxicated, or maybe in love, what’s the difference.

Four minutes later, he is keeping track, the _1_ unread next to his message disappears, he exits the chat, and tries to imagine what Mark’s face looks like on the other side of the wall, but the image is too blurry, or perhaps his imagination too lacking.

A new message pops up on his screen: “ _^^_.”

Bambam wants to take his admission back, from Mark, from Yugyeom, but settles for not clicking through, leaving Mark alone with his _1_ , even though he knows Mark won’t be keeping track.

  


On the days Bambam feels too wounded or too fed-up or both, he ignores Mark beyond the formalities necessary for any two people living and working together, and Mark doesn’t seem to mind so it’s just as well. Bambam misses the times when their minor annoyances with each other lasted no longer than minutes and didn’t linger, lacking any true gravity. In a group of sporadic clashes, he and Mark were positively peaceful, never needed a middleman or had to find solutions, because there was nothing to fix.

It’s simpler when the days are packed with schedules, and Bambam can even pretend the busyness is why the phases when their _thing_ feels simple are so infrequent.

One of those days, when all Bambam has the energy to think about are the fans’ screams and the _brrrrrrra_ s ahead, Mark joins him when he’s resting on the couch in the waiting room, and it takes Bambam a moment to catch up to the reality of the vague resentment he associates with Mark lately. He knows his part in it isn’t blameless, but he can't confirm or deny it if no one’s holding him responsible.

Mark turns to him like he wants to talk. _Now_ he wants to talk, Bambam can’t help but think.

“The jungle,” Mark says, and it’s random enough that it hooks Bambam’s attention, however unimpressed he is, and he informs Mark of both with his face. “I think I’ve liked you way before, though I can’t tell when, but I realized in the jungle.”

By the time Mark finishes, Bambam has zoned out the world around them, anxious not to miss a word. “Why the jungle?” he asks.

“You told me I might realize my life here is precious when I’m there,” Mark says, and Bambam is amazed Mark remembers, because _he_ can’t remember, yet he trusts Mark’s memory implicitly. “And I did. And realized how precious you are to me.”

Mark utters the last sentence so shyly, in a tone that’s so strange to hear coming from Mark to him, Bambam, and Bambam wants to shake him out of it, feeling lighter than he’s felt in ages. His hand finds Mark’s and he begins playing with his fingers, and casually continues even as it hits him how it’s not so casual anymore. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “I can’t tell when I started liking you either. But I do. Just so you know.”

Mark giggles. Bambam belatedly pulls a ‘this is so cringy’ face and Mark kisses him on the cheek, and they both burst out laughing.

No takebacks.

  


  
  


II.

  


Mark spends a good portion of his day, every day, watching Bambam. He loves - well, he couldn’t categorize what he loves about Bambam, even if Bambam might want him to - but Bambam’s face is definitely a beautiful fraction of what he loves about him, the moments when he’s lost in thought or his little smiles when he’s particularly satisfied with himself or his unpretentious joy when he’s snuggling with Coco on their visits to Youngjae’s apartment.

He likes it best when Bambam doesn’t know he’s watching, especially after he’s gotten into this habit of pulling a stupid face at Mark once he realizes. It’s not working, Mark thinks, you’re not ugly to me, but it’s already a little tainted by Bambam’s insistence to make a joke out of it.

Mark feels overcome with happiness on a regular basis since he’s been dating Bambam, but the downside of it is that he worries more. He never had to think about being around Bambam before, he just _was_ , but now it’s as if the air is full of unspoken expectations that can make or break them, and he has to tread carefully.

It’s a bizarre contrast, then, with how Bambam is also capable of grating on his nerves on a regular basis. Mark doesn’t step on the dos and don’ts he’s been mentally noting down, but in the space in between, the neutral land, anything goes. So he rolls his eyes when Bambam is getting hyperactive instead of focusing on whatever they came to film and snaps when Bambam snaps (or is it the other way around?), though with increasing frequency nothing feels neutral.

“Mark is-” Bambam starts on broadcast, and Mark interrupts. “Hyung,” he adds, and Bambam corrects himself and the show goes on, but in the second Bambam looks at him as the source of interruption, Mark knows they are both recalling the same; the two of them in bed, side by side, Bambam bringing Mark to edge with his name on his lips and disregard for the honorific native to neither of them.

The upside - in the end it’s about the upsides, that Mark believes completely - is that the periods between each time Mark dares to trap Bambam in a spontaneous backhug get shorter and sometimes Bambam absentmindedly pats Mark’s butt or squeezes his hand, and Mark takes what he can get.

He respects the intimacy between Bambam and Yugyeom and resolves not to make an issue of it even in his mind, the same way he wouldn’t question other deep-seeded bonds, like Bambam’s with his family, but seeing Bambam cling to Jinyoung or Jackson with such ease, unimaginable to Bambam’s behavior around Mark, ties him in knots before he can help it. The solution he resorts to is as silly as the anxiety: it helps that he has it in writing, Bambam’s confession that he really fucking likes him back.

  


Bambam has always sought Mark out when he wants to watch a horror movie and is too scared to be on his own, and for as long as he remembers, Mark has liked how on those nights Bambam grasps his arm or makes him hold hands (like Mark needs convincing), but now Mark can press kisses along the side of Bambam’s face, and Bambam complains that Mark’s disturbing his movie time but doesn’t pull away, and nothing can take Mark out of serene bliss in moments like that.

“I want to make you happy,” he once tells Bambam with a smile.

“Eww.”

“You make me happy.”

“You make me gag.”

“What do you want, anything?”

“A check on my name.”

“Okay.”

The corners of Bambam’s mouth twitch and they both start chuckling, happily, together, Bambam kisses him with more fever than ever before, and Mark can’t think even if he tried.

  


“I can’t believe I used to answer you would be sweet to your girlfriend,” Mark says one day when they’re hanging out in his room. Or, more precisely, each of them is hanging out on his own with the other in the room. Mark likes it more often than not - other members’ assessments that relationships with him would be lowkey weren’t inaccurate. He just didn’t expect Bambam to be the more apathetic one.

“You’re not my girlfriend, are you,” Bambam says. “You’re Mork.”

Before Mark can examine how he feels about the statement (not even _his_ Mork, just Mork), Bambam slides on the floor next to him and holds up his phone.

Bambam badgers him for selcas often, which isn’t unusual and it’s only adding to his collection of hundreds of selcas with dozens of people, but it’s becoming an almost daily ritual. Mark is always ready to oblige but Bambam’s impressive yet already repetitive range of goofy faces next to his relaxed smile has been bothering him.

He pokes a finger into Bambam’s puffed up cheeks. “Stop it.”

“ _What_ ,” Bambam says, exasperated, like he was prepared for it, which is absurd with how many selcas Mark wordlessly posed through.

Mark doesn’t want to fight, though. “Can’t we, like, take a cute one?” Bambam stares at him blankly so he specifies, “Like, a couple one.”

“What, like...”

And Mark thinks he notices Bambam hesitate for a split of a second, but then he’s straddling Mark’s lap and Mark forgets what they were talking about. Bambam kisses him, deep and dirty and gone too soon, and then there’s warm breath on his neck and Bambam traps his earlobe between his teeth, and Mark can already feel himself getting stiff. (He would think he would have been hornier when he _wasn’t_ getting any, but being with Bambam disproved that theory.)

“Mark,” Bambam whispers into his ear, buries fingers into his hair. “ _Hyung_.”

Mark can’t decide which turns him on more, only that either, both, _anything_. He drops his face to Bambam’s neck, kisses wherever the neckline of Bambam’s shirt allows, with Bambam’s hand at the back of his head.

And suddenly, Bambam is rolling off of him and studying his phone. “Vampire Mark lol,” he says in a haggart voice.

Mark blinks. “What?”

“That would be the caption,” Bambam says, showing him the screen. Mark didn’t realize the camera went off, but there they are; the photo is unfocused in a way that could pass for artsy, but he can still make out himself from moments ago, against Bambam’s neck, and another angle he didn’t get to see: Bambam with parted lips, captured off-guard, gorgeous. “If I could upload it. _Vampire Mark lol_.”

He is a dork, Mark thinks with amazement. A dork that just caused and abandoned a now softening boner, but still a dork.

And a nerd, too. Bambam stays glued to his phone, trying out filters and stickers, as if nothing out of ordinary just happened, if it wasn’t for his face flushed all over.

“Come ‘ere,” Mark says and pulls Bambam closer, Bambam’s back to his chest, and hugs the hunched human bundle in front of him, peering over his shoulder on Bambam’s ongoing editing process. “I like it,” he says. “Though I was thinking something more PG.”

Bambam pauses, turns his head to him a little. “... Pidgey?”

“No, it’s…” Mark presses his lips into a small smile. “Sure, Pidgey.”

Bambam stays still for a few seconds, then shakes his head. “I don’t get it.”

Mark reaches over, grasps Bambam’s hand holding the phone, switches the applications with his free hand, and raises the phone just above their eye levels, taking Bambam’s arm with him. “Like…” He gives a peaceful, content smile into the camera, the smile that comes so easily to him these days, and snaps several pictures in a row.

It came out lovely. Bambam looks softer in his arms than he could dream him out to be, his expression shifting from confused to smiley with each slide.

“Caption?” Mark challenges him.

“I don’t know," Bambam says meekly. "It’s not like I can post it anyway."

Mark uploads it into their KakaoTalk chat with a “ _Bam and Mork_.”

  


They take a walk to get takeout burgers one evening and, too hungry to wait till they get to the dorm, plop down on a nearest bench and bite in.

“Let’s have a date,” Bambam suddenly says between bites.

“Okay,” Mark agrees.

“A dinner date.”

Mark glances down at the burger in his hands.

“Not like we always do,” Bambam says, scolding.

“Okay. But…?” He looks at Bambam, trying to convey the whole ‘we’re idols’ thing.

“You’ll see. Tomorrow night?”

“Sure.”

“Cool,” Bambam says. Mark puts his palm up in front of Bambam’s open chewing mouth.

  


All Bambam tells him the next day is to chill in his and Yugyeom’s room if he needs to and arrive to his own room at eight o’clock, not sooner or later.

Mark and Yugyeom end up watching YouTube videos on Yugyeom’s bed and they fall into a prolonged nap around noon. Mark only wakes up when Yugyeom gets up to take a shower, 13 minutes before the arranged time, and he starts panicking. Another thing they all expected Bambam to be in relationships was high-maintenance, which was proving both wrong in all the obvious ways and right in the subtle, unpredictable ways, but whatever Bambam was picturing under a date is an unmapped territory.

Is Bambam expecting him to have prepared for the date? As he heads for his door, Mark thinks of the suit he could have worn or the bouquet of roses he could have brought, instead of coming empty-handed and in his old tank top and sweatpants he’s had on since yesterday, and when he reaches for the knob he’s half expecting _Bambam_ with a bouquet of roses and disillusionment on his face upon seeing Mark.

He opens the door and instead it’s Bambam, on the floor in front of a transportable hot stove, in his dalmatian slippers, the freshly washed pants after Mark jerked him off in them a week ago, and one of Mark’s simple black oversized t-shirts. It’s not a Bambam on a red carpet for award shows or a Bambam in meticulously put-together outfits for airport pictures; it’s his one-of-a-kind Bambam, who now pushes his fridge from his forehead, looks up, having just registered his entrance, and hollers, “Mork in da _house_!”

Mark joins him, unabashedly beaming. There are also candles in the corner, meat that appears to be hanwoo on the grill (“Hanwoo,” Bambam points out redundantly), a bottle of what’s probably fairly expensive wine, and a playlist of songs Mark _hasn’t_ heard Bambam play a thousand times before, but Mark would have found their room date perfect with nothing but Bambam awaiting him.

“It’s beautiful,” he says anyway.

“Yas, yas,” Bambam says, turning the meat on the grill, and Mark can see the smile tugging at his lips.

They eat and drink and Mark keeps the compliments coming (“It tastes really good,” “I love this song”), earnest if hollow without Bambam in front of him, but maybe that’s the point. Occasionally they break into song, two rappers without strength and technique, and laugh at themselves, and Bambam doesn’t give up picture-taking tonight either, capturing every prop, Mark alone, and them together, puckering his lips in Mark’s direction or swiping his tongue up Mark’s ear, and Mark can’t tell if it’s objectively less ridiculous or if he's just developed tolerance for it, but either way he loves every selca outcome.

“What now?” Mark asks once they set down their chopsticks.

Bambam idly turns to him.

“We had our dinner, what now?” Mark clarifies, and he can see how alert Bambam instantly becomes, how the wheels of his brain start turning.

“Now…” Bambam stands up and so Mark follows. “Now I kiss you goodnight.”

“Oh.”

“What?” Bambam shoots, his face suspiciously suspicious, like he caught him in a gotcha, which he sort of did, and only belatedly Mark realizes the anticlimactic turn was intentional.

“Nothing,” Mark says, puts his poker face up in defense. “Go on, then.”

Bambam watches him a bit longer, waiting for a slip-up, but Mark recognizes another ritual of the series of rituals Bambam likes to play out, with rules only Bambam must be aware of, but Mark finds that, on his part, going with the flow seems to be enough and so he indulges without objections.

“Now I kiss you goodnight...” Bambam finally says, but this time finishes in an open-ended tone and closes the distance between them, Mark automatically putting his hands on the sides of Bambam’s waist, and Bambam kisses him, brief and tame. Mark connects his hands behind Bambam’s back and locks him before he can leave too far, but Bambam stays in place and lowers his eyes somewhere below Mark’s. “But you ask…”

Mark gives himself a moment to think about it and tries, “Do you want to spend the night?”

“I do,” Bambam says, “if I get a striptease.”

Mark’s mouth opens in shock. Him, doing a striptease, he is not willing or able to do that, and he tries to reconsider because he wants to do things for Bambam, in theory, but he can’t get past the fact that he _can’t_. “I’m… sorry…” he splutters.

And Bambam laughs in his face, literally, and hugs him, petting his head. “I’m joking, hyung, it’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“You…!” Mark points an accusatory finger at him, laughing with relief now.

“ _I_ do want to spend the night,” Bambam resumes his narration smoothly and Mark molds back into his captive audience and participant in one. “And so you sit on the bed...” Mark sits. “And you close your eyes…” Mark closes them.

Bambam goes quiet, the only sound in the room is coming from the audio system, and Mark can only wait, filled with rush of adrenaline from the unknown. Bambam could push a smelly sock to his nose. He could leave him in the room and laugh at him with Yugyeom. He could go to sleep on the floor, easily, because he knows Mark will be waiting, eyes closed, but while there is more that Mark _doesn’t_ know, he, in return, knows he can trust Bambam.

He shivers at the first sign of change, the fabric of his top sliding up and a palm caressing underneath, and then - Mark’s breath speeds up - toward his pelvis. He feels a tug at the waistband of his pants so he lifts just enough to enable Bambam to pull them down. All touch is withdrawn again, and Mark waits, robbed of one of his senses, his cock hardening.

“And I get on my knees…” Bambam says from below, and Mark’s body doesn’t know how to handle that knowledge. He wants to touch himself, immediately jerk himself off, with what he’s imagined countless times before now being reality outside his blocked vision, but the very same acute realization stops him. He glues both his hands to the mattress to keep himself from breaking the resolution not to rush, not to step outside of the plot Bambam has set up.

Bambam, who is now on his knees, in front of him. Bambam, who is now exploring his thighs with his hands and his mouth, Bambam whose slender fingers wrap around his dick and move up and down and up again, and Mark cries out.

There is another excruciating pause with no fraction of skin, just Bambam’s hand holding Mark’s dick in place. “Look at me.”

Mark opens his eyes but he feels before he sees. His eyes are still trying to adjust to the light while his entire body tenses with sensation as the head of his cock comes in contact with the wet surface of Bambam’s tongue. Bambam is tasting him and already watching, looking up at him with Mark’s cock on his tongue, and Mark’s focus flickers between Bambam’s mouth, his watchful eyes, the mole under his left one, and back to his cock just at the entrance of Bambam’s mouth.

He would be fine if Bambam now got up and left the rest up to Mark with only a tinge of his tongue on him behind, it’s all he would need to bring himself to edge with more intensity than ever before. Mark has fantasized about this, Bambam’s mouth on him (and his on Bambam) but never thought to initiate it when what he and Bambam have feels like a rare win in lottery, prize you shouldn’t gamble with, and if Bambam chose to keep to hands, Mark would follow the example.

But Bambam doesn’t seem to have any intention to leave it at that. He’s not looking into Mark’s face anymore but Mark can see an occasional flicker of his eyelids as he licks across the length of Mark’s cock, his lips brushing against it on the way, until there doesn’t seem to be any spot that’s not slick with Bambam’s split.

He can never predict Bambam’s next move, which makes the strikes all the more thrilling, and one second Bambam is darting his tongue over his slit and then the tip of his cock is disappearing into Bambam’s mouth, enclosed by Bambam’s thick lips, and Mark needs to do _something_ with his hands, cover his face, pull at Bambam’s hair or his own, but instead he grasps at the sheets and stays put, releasing only breath laced with irregular whiny noises.

Bambam soon has his mouth around the head of Mark’s cock, lowers himself a bit further until the tip of his cock hits the roof of Bambam’s mouth, and there he pauses, keeps still for a moment, and pulls back up. Mark’s body is grieving the loss of contact, but through it all he wonders how Bambam is doing, if he’s not regretting this, but before he can ask or even decide if Bambam would want him to ask, Bambam raises his head, meets his eyes, and answers on his own accord with a hurried smile, before he takes Mark’s cock back into his mouth without any reserve.

He doesn’t take him in all the way down but keeps his fist at the measured distance and bobs his head with his lips in a tight circle around his cock, sliding in and out, with heightened sensation from his tongue pressing underneath. Bambam adds pressure and Mark throws his head back at the jolt of pleasure that hits him, spreading all over his body, from his brain to the tips of his toes, but he makes himself straighten up and look, like Bambam told him to, while Bambam’s mouth is taking his cock.

Bambam pulls out, takes a breath, and begins sloppily licking and sucking, and Mark can’t tell if it’s because Bambam enjoys it or if he’s eager to make Mark feel good, but there is no wrong option, both are equally powerful buttons to Mark’s destruction, with Bambam, on his knees, hungrily lapping up his cock.

In another break to catch his breath, Bambam runs his hand down Mark’s length, almost tenderly, and lowers his mouth on him again. Mark finds himself struggling not to meet it with thrusts even from his seated position. Bambam might have realized because he puts his free hand on Mark’s hip, and Mark channels the unyielding pleasure inside through small cries with every bob of Bambam’s head.

Bambam pauses with only the tip of Mark’s cock between his lips - Mark knows he won’t ever be able to see Bambam eating ice cream without his mind getting distracted anymore - and he looks up at him, and Mark ahhs from the new wave of ecstasy it sends into his dick. He is getting close, and Bambam seems to understand, sits back with only his hand on Mark’s cock now, pumping it mercilessly and watching, like he always does, Mark breaking down under his hold.

“I’ll make you come on yourself,” Bambam says matter-of-factly. “The top needs washing anyway.”

And Mark lets out a creaky laugh and a few pumps later he is coming, the loads from his spazzing cock aimed at his clothed torso like Bambam promised.

He was a bit embarrassed the first time he came upon Bambam’s words guiding him, but the second or third time he dropped the second-guessing and welcomed it as a surprising reflex he’s excited to surrender to.

Bambam gets on his feet in what feels no time at all and stands between Mark’s legs to help him pull the tank top over his arms. Mark, topless, hugs the limbs in front of him and rests against him, breathing in and out, and Bambam ruffles his hair. Mark wants to stay like this forever, until he realizes he’s pressing against Bambam’s hard-on, and he looks up and finds Bambam looking down with a slightly strained smile.

Mark grins and mouths at the bulge over Bambam’s pants without further ado.

  


Sometimes when Mark watches Bambam get lost in thought and Bambam registers him staring across the room or the stage, the moment is broken, but he shares a private smile with Mark, earnest, unpretentious, a little pleased with himself, and part of Mark stays on alert, ready for any silly face Bambam might have in store, but he finds he loves that, too.

**Author's Note:**

> bambam really did say [that](https://youtu.be/PJPaaO7iFW8?t=1m15s) before mark went to the jungle, btw. :')


End file.
